


100 Ways to Say 'I Love You'

by Decaykid



Category: Mr. Robot (TV)
Genre: F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M, More tags to be added, Multi, relationships can be seen as platonic or romantic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-16
Updated: 2017-07-02
Packaged: 2018-04-21 03:23:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 11,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4813082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Decaykid/pseuds/Decaykid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Different ways to say 'I love you' for different kids of love.<br/>(Inspired by: http://p0ck3tf0x.tumblr.com/post/98502010026/one-hundred-ways-to-say-i-love-you )</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> "Pull over. Let me drive for a while."  
> [Romero/Mobley]

Mobley is jostled awake as his head collides with the window. He sits up and upon instinct, he turns to the backseat where Elliot is, still fast asleep. Mobley's not sure how he can sleep through all this, then again that's all he's done since they left the motel. Beside Mobley, Romero mutters a string of cuss words under his breath as he speeds up to get around the car in the lane beside them.

"Hey, you okay?" Mobley asks feebly. It's obvious the older man is tense and he has every right to be. Their little rag tag group are headed towards a literal and metaphorical mountain, and their brave and fearless leader is laid out in the backseat of their stolen vehicle as he tries to get his shit together.

Mobley knows is there's one thing Romero hates, it's when people don't have their shit together.

The second thing would be idiots, which Romero believes the rest of the world to be.

"Why can't anyone use their goddamn blinkers? They're there for a reason, utilize them!" He yells as he blares the car horn.

If there's a third thing Romero hates, it'd be stress. It's why he isn't the head of fsociety, he doesn't do well under pressure.

"You know, you can follow all the rules of the road, but all it takes is one jackass who isn't paying attention to get us all killed."

Mobley chews on his bottom lip and nods, only half paying attention to Romero's words. Instead, he's watching the muscle in his jaw twitch, the way his lips are pressed into a thin line, the now permanent furrow of his brow, his white knuckled grip on the steering wheel...

"Hey, uh, why don't you pull over real quick? Let me drive for a bit."

"Do you even know where we're going?"

Mobley glances at the GPS pulled up on his laptop.

He knows Romero means well. He knows he wants to be in control of the situation, to feel in control of the uncertainty that lies before them.

"I'll just drive for a bit. Like thirty minutes or so. Just long enough to give you a break."

Romero lets out a hefty sigh, then carefully pulls off into the shoulder. Mobley puts the laptop on the dash and the two switch places.

"Wait, wait! Don't pull out yet, that car is coming in fast!"

Mobley smiles to himself as he signals the blinker, waits for the too fast car to drive by, and drives back into the highway.

"Can you believe that asshole? Did they even see us here?"

"Probably for the best, sense we're in a stolen vehicle and all."

Romero snorts, but says nothing else as he digs around his bag for a water bottle.

Truth is, Mobley doesn't mind Romero much, even though he seems to rub the others the wrong way sometimes, especially Elliot. He can be a bit abrasive sometimes, but Mobley knows Romero has no malicious intent. Sometimes Romero just needs someone to talk to, someone to complain to, someone to listen to his worries and concerns disguised as snarky remarks, and Mobley is that someone.

"Turn off on the next exit. It's in about 15.2 miles."

"Okay, boss."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "It reminded me of you."  
> [Trenton/Darlene]

Trenton can feel the pair of eyes from across the arcade. She moves her shoulder as if to shrug it off, but the itchy feeling remains. She finally gives into the urge and carefully glances over the top of her computer to see Darlene lounging on the skeeball machines, watching her as she smokes a cigarette.

"Hey are you busy or whatever?"

"Yeah. Kinda." Trenton can't keep the edge from her voice. She's been at her laptop for the last six hours.

"Really? Cause it kinda seems like you've just been staring at your screen."

Okay, so she was on a roll up until Darlene entered the arcade about ten minutes ago.

"It's kinda hard to work when someone's staring at you."

"Watching. I was watching you."

"Whatever it is, it's unnerving."

Darlene chuckles in her rich, husky voice. It makes Trenton's heart flutter and she's not entirely sure it's all from nerves.

"Jesus kid, you scare too easily. I'm not the enemy remember? It's E Corp and all those greedy pigs. 'Sides," Darlene stands and it's then Trenton notices the fabric bunched up in Darlene's hand. "Would the bad get you something?"

"Maybe," Trenton answers. E Corp probably has accounts set aside filled with money to woe others to do their bidding.

Darlene tosses it unceremoniously across Trenton's workspace. It lands on Trenton's head and drapes down over her face and shoulders. Bewildered, Trenton removes it from herself and holds it out. It's a shirt with sleeves that flare out like a flower at the end and sequins sewed onto it, closer together at the collar and more spread out at the bottom. There's a simple elegance to the shirt, a sort of quiet beauty.

"So apparently my dumbbell brother has a girlfriend and never told me about her, which is whatever cause we're not really close like that, but she saw me waiting for him outside his apartment the other night, and we talked for a bit and went out for a few hours bonding and all that shit, and anyways, I saw this and it kinda made me think of you."

"Darlene, I- "

"Hey, don't think this is like a gift or anything. Your wardrobe is sad to be honest. You needed something to liven it up."

Trenton nods, she knows Darlene has a funny way of saying things. Neither her nor Elliot seem to god at communicating... well, anything really.

"So like... maybe you could wear it this weekend? We could hang out or go see a movie or just chill around. I dunno. Whatever you're into."

"Oh."

"What, you have plans or something?"

"No, I'm just... I-I'd... yeah, I'd like that."

Darlene smiles, and Trenton smiles with her, feeling the blush creep up her neck to her face.

"Yeah, I'd like that too."

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "No, no, it's my treat."  
> [Shayla/Angela]

Angela sighs as she tries to ignore the sting of tears in her eyes. She glances at her watch. Ten minutes. She's been waiting for ten minutes. She knocks for the third time.

"C'mon Elliot, this isn't funny to keep me waiting!!"

He _promised_ her they'd hang out together after work. Well, no, he hadn't actually promised, she reminds herself as she leans forward, resting her head against his door. He did Elliot Evasive Maneuver No. 3, he said 'that sounds nice', to change it up from Maneuver No. 2 "I have plans" and No. 1, the classic "I'll try". He changes it up from time to time, to throw her off, so she actually gets her hopes up, even though she should really know better by now.

She'd been excited, thought maybe if they went to the park to hang out maybe he'd go, because it wouldn't be packed like a theater or bar and he wouldn't have to go to her place where Ollie is and they could just talk for a few hours, maybe get ice cream on the way back.

"Ohhh." Angela jumps at the voice. She turns around to see a woman standing in the doorway almost directly across from her.

"Lemme guess, stood ya up? He kinda does that."

"Yeah, he's always been like that."

"You've known him a while?"

"Since childhood."

"Oh, well then." The woman smiles. "I'm Shayla, by the way. Shayla Nico."

"Angela Moss."

"Hi Angela. If it's any consolation, he was only here a few minutes then he left again. I guess something else popped up, maybe he thought he'd be back by now,"

"Yeah. maybe." Angela digs her phone from her pocket. What could have happened that Elliot needed to take care of that Angela didn't know about? As far as she knew, he went to Allsafe during the day, then back to his shitty apartment at night, and he's never been one to have a social life.

"It wouldn't have hurt for him to text me."

Shayla chuckles. It reminds Angela of rusty wind chimes in the breeze.

"Tell ya what, you can hang out at my place for a bit and wait for him, and if he doesn't show, then at least your evening wasn't a complete waste."

"Well-"

"C'mon, I was just about to get dinner. It'll be my treat."

Angela thinks of Ollie in the apartment. What difference does it make if she's with Elliot or with Shayla? Beats standing around in the hall looking like a fool.

"Yeah, okay."

"Yaay. I hope you like Chinese."

"I love Chinese."

~*~

Angela doesn't hide the disappointment she feels in the pit of her stomach after she knocks on Elliot's door to no avail. Shayla offers a sympathetic smile as they walk through the doorway of her apartment, toting the food.

"Sorry," Shayla says, moving stuff around, "the place is a bit cluttered. Seems I'm always telling myself I'll organize next weekend, ya know?"

"Yeah," Angela says politely, but no she doesn't know. She likes her organization, her neat stacks of paper on her desk and things alphabetized on her shelves. But she doesn't mind the clutter in Shayla's apartment, it feels homey, lived in, full.

They have easy conversation over dinner, the usual small talk, getting to know one another. Angela talks a bit about Allsafe, her friends, Ollie. Shayla talks about her favorite tv shows, bands, and Elliot. Angela smiles when she needs to, even laughs a few times and eventually quits keeping an ear trained for keys jingling in the door one over.

"So how do you two know each other?" Shayla asks from her perch on the couch. Angela sits on the floor below her as Shayla braids her hair. "Like I know you said since childhood, but how did you meet?"

"Oh. Well, I guess we've always sorta known about each other. We grew up in the same town, went to the same school, but it wasn't until..."

Angela's breath catches and the words get caught in her throat. She closes her eyes, inhales deeply and wonders if the ache in her chest will ever subside.

"Our parents, my Mom and his Dad, they passed away. We believe it was because of E Corp and their toxic waste. There were others. There was a lawsuit. That's how we met."

Shayla's fingers still in Angela's hair.

"Wow. I'm sorry to hear that."

Angela shrugs. She knows Shayla means well, but she's heard it a thousand times before. From family. From friends. From the lawyers. From coworkers. And no amount of apologies can bring her mother back, or erase the pain, the pain of loss, the pain of missed experiences, things others take for granted.

Hands move from her hair to rest on her shoulders.

"Well, hey. I think you're pretty tough. That's a hard thing to go through, but you persevered."

Angela places one of her hands on Shayla's.

"Thanks."

Shayla squeezes her hand.

"No problem."

When Angela's phone rings in her pocket she jumps, then pulls it out and frowns when she sees the text from Ollie and notes the time.

"Shit, I'm sorry Shayla, I should really go."

Shayla smiles in her cat-like way.

"Yeah, that's fine."

Angela smiles in turn, then stands and begins to gather her stuff.

"Uh, thanks by the way. I had a good time."

"Yeah, me too." Shayla walks her to the door. "And... you know, if Elliot ever bails on you again, feel free to drop in. Or, you know, if you wanted to skip the whole making-plans-with-Elliot-and-him-not-showing step and just stop by here whenever, that's cool too."

Angela smiles, one that reaches her eyes, and she nods.

"Yeah okay. I think I'll do that."

The two continue to stand there smiling at each other.

"So, uh, thanks again."

"No problem, sunshine."

"Goodnight."

"Yeah, you too."

Shayla watches as Angela disappears down the hall. She continues to smile to herself as she sits down on the couch. Her and Elliot will _definitely_ be having a conversation tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sunshine is thecannabiskid's name for this ship (and it's totally perfect and kills me a little on the inside.)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Come here. Let me fix it."  
> [Edward Alderson, Elliot Alderson]

Whether it was a nightmare, a broken toy, or that time he broke his arm, Elliot's father would always do the same thing.

Elliot would run up to him in tears, asking him to fix this or make that better. His father would stop whatever he was doing, peer at Elliot over the top of his glasses, then look through his glasses to better observe the problem. Once assessing the damage he'd sigh no matter how simple or complex the fix.

"Come here," he'd say, "let me fix it."

If it were a toy, he'd let Elliot sit in his lap, watching as he worked, sometimes even sending the boy to fetch a tool or allowing him to fix something here or there. They'd work on it together until it was fixed, unless it was broken beyond repair. Then his Dad would ruffle his hair, say _'sorry kiddo'_ but return the next day from work with a replacement, usually something better.

If it were a nightmare, he could often find his Dad at the desk, the soft glow of the computer screen already bringing comfort to young Elliot.

"Come here," he'd say, "let me fix it."

And Elliot would climb into his lap and watch his father work, watch the foreign symbols flit across the screen until his heavy eyelids could stay open no more. He'd close them and allow the soft hum of the processor, the quiet murmuring of his father while he worked, and the click clack of fingers typing on a keyboard to lull him back to sleep. He'd only stir once his father picked him up. _'I got ya kiddo'_ he'd say, and Elliot would easily fall back asleep, undisturbed until morning.

And of course, Edward Alderson had fixed many cuts, scrapes and bruises. Elliot had been running along the sidewalk, tripped and fell and busted his lip, or he and Darlene were taking turns on the scooter and it toppled over, causing him to scrape an elbow.

"Come here. Let me fix it," he'd say, and guide Elliot to the sink to wash it out. As he put antibacterial ointment and a bandage on it, he'd entertain his son with stories of the superhero like defenses the body has against the villainous germs, and if that didn't stop the tears, Edward Alderson was not above the tickling tactic.

Then there were the other times. Red, open-palmed marks on Elliot's cheek, purple-blue bruises along his jaw, or on his side or back where he'd landed when she'd pushed him.

_'You are worthless. You are nothing.'_

_'Don't you talk to him that way.'_

Elliot remembers the gash on his father's forehead from where the vase cut him. Eventually he stopped confronting her, especially when he got sick. Elliot always knew when mother was in a bad mood because Edward would hide out behind the computer. Until it was all over. Until all the anger had left her and she either went to sleep for the night or stormed off somewhere else. No matter what, his father would always go to him afterwards.

"Come here," he'd say, because he knew he couldn't really fix it, and he'd gather Elliot into his arms. He'd hold Elliot as tight as he could, as if he could keep his son from breaking, as if he could somehow just hold him all together. He'd hold Elliot as he cried, running his fingers through his hair. 'I know buddy, I know'. Sometimes he even cried with his son, and once Elliot's sobs turn to hiccups, he'd gather the boy up and carry him into the kitchen. He'd clean the cuts and the scrapes, he'd observe the bruises. He'd doctor them up, only those times there were no stories or tickling or laughing. Instead he'd place his hand on Elliot's shoulder and say the opposite of whatever his mother had said just moments before. Then they'd go, hand in hand to the computer. Edward would sit at the desk then let Elliot climb into his lap, and Elliot would watch him work, listening to the humming, muttering and click clack.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may add more to this later and make it a standalone.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I'll Walk You Home"  
> [Mobley, Darlene]

There's an odd sense of dread that twists further into her stomach as everyone leaves one by one. Though the arcade is lit up with all its vibrant signs and flashing lights, it feels superficial; though darkness is a lonely companion, light hardly substitutes as a friend. She hates it, feeling vulnerable. It's as if the stupid neon being emitted from the games are shinning into her innermost places, exposing her insecurities. She knows she's being silly, people can only see what she allows them to see, but it doesn't stop her heart from skipping a beat as Mobley stands from his chair.

"You still working?"

"Nah," she says, voice falsely confident, "I finished up my part yesterday."

"Oh."

She notes the shift in his feet, his hand reaching for his lanyard. Now comes the part she hates.

"So... what are you doing here?"

"Ambiance, obviously. Can't exactly get 'creepy serial killer hobo carnie' anywhere else, ya know?"

"Haha, yeah."

She sighs. She's never been one to beat around the bush.

"Actually, I need a place to bunk I'm... kinda homeless."

"Ohhh..."

She hates it. She hates it, she hates it, she hates it. The pity. Having someone feeling sorry for her, having someone look at her in a different way, like they need to suddenly handle her differently, like she's fragile. That's how it had been when her father died. The teachers at school would look at her, all sympathetic. The children would gawk, ask nosey questions, avoid her on the playground. The same thing happened when she got older and Elliot's condition became known. So often she heard 'I'm so sorry' and 'it must be hard' and the awful 'you brave soul' as if she choose that life. Things got worse when Elliot's conditioned worsened, and word got out about their mother and her abuse. By that point, parents would lead their children to the other side of the street or the next isle saying "she's not well", like she was Frankenstein's monster, so sad and pathetic but she couldn't help herself.

"You can stay at my place."

If there's one thing her mother taught her aside from the abuse and the pain, it's that you don't accept handouts. You carve your path in the world, and you have to earn everything, work for what you want. Her father, however, had told her to never be afraid to ask for help, that there is a grace to allowing someone to help you, that it usually makes the other person feel good too, but she remembers when he'd pushed Elliot out of the window when he tried to get him help. Regardless of pride, her and Cisco broke up and now she needs a place to stay, at least until she gets back up on her feet.

"I better not catch you going through my shit." She doesn't mean it, but she can't let him know how secretly grateful she is. 'Thank you' is just something she never learned to say.

~*~

I'd offer to carry those for you, but I wouldn't want you thinking I'm gonna make off with it."

She recognizes it as a weak attempt at humor, and turns to give him a pointed glare. He chuckles and she finds herself smiling.

"You'd find it wasn't worth it if you did. Didn't really get a chance to pack, ya know? I just kinda... stormed out."

"What! You? Pfft, nooo." His voice cracks at the end, she's made him uncomfortable.

"Yeah, I know. Anger issues and all that shit. Guess you can say it runs in the family.

"Yeah, I... kinda gathered that."

"I know we argue a lot but, I mean we do get along. We just bond of screaming at each other."

Mobley chuckles and pushes his hair out of his face.

"How is Elliot by the way?"

Mobley asks a lot of questions about Elliot, most people do, and Darlene doesn't understand it. Even the ones who find his behavior due to his social anxieties abrasive find a way to corner her for a game of twenty questions. Then there are those like Mobley, who think the socially awkward behavior adds an air of mystery to him.

"I dunno, kinda hard to say. I think he may be acting weirder than normal."

"Yeah I've been wondering that too. He seemed a bit spacey last time he came in."

"Yeah that was weird."

Come to think of it, he'd asked for their boss. Of course Elliot had been super paranoid when looking for the perfect base of operations. They were all well aware going into this that what they're doing is illegal, though sometimes Darlene thinks Elliot takes putting up the front a little too far. Certainly if anyone had become suspicious of the activity out on Coney Island, they'd send a patrol out by the arcade, but no such thing has happened yet.

Could it be possible Elliot's having a hard time keeping up? Maybe the stress is starting to get to him. But he'd say something to her if it was becoming too much, right? Would Elliot ask for help?

"Hey, we're about three-fourths of the way to the house, you wanna pop in real quick and grab something?" Mobley asks as he stops in front of a convenience store.

"Not really. Don't have any money. I don't mind waiting for you though."

Darlene leans against the wall as she lights up a cigarette. Maybe she should visit Elliot again. Maybe she should sit down with him and talk about something other than the plan. But do they have anything outside of fsociety? Aside from a heap of unspoken conversations and talks they need to have? Like how she regrets resenting him for his issues when they were growing up? How she was just a child and just didn't understand, that all she knew was Dad paid him more attention? Or maybe how she wished she had opened up to him more after their father's death, so that maybe Elliot would've opened to her too, instead of having a breakdown a few years later when he could no longer internalize everything? Or how maybe after all these years, she's proud of him for coming this far, for surviving this long?

"Hey," Mobley says as he exists the store, and he shoves a Sprite and a bag of gummy worms at her.

"What's this?" She asks accusingly, because people don't just do nice things. He shrugs as he opens his Doritos.

"Guess I'm a social eater."

She snorts but opens her drink.

"Hey, do you prefer PlayStation or Xbox? Or do you like Wii? Cause I got some weed from Romero, and there is no greater experience than playing Wii Tennis blitzed out of your mind. Oh, I guess we could do PC gaming if you want, but that'd be kinda difficult to do if you don't hace a computer. Oh well, I got one you can borrow, if you want."

Darlene listens on speechless. There is no 'I'm sorry' or 'you poor soul'. Just plans for the evening. For Mobley, he's not helping a friend out, he's just hanging out with one. It's a nice change, she thinks. And maybe after this, when she visits Elliot, she can tell him it's not so scary letting someone help you.

"So," Mobley starts, "you and Trenton..."

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Have a good day at work."  
> [Joanna/Tyrell]  
> [Implied Tyrell/Elliot]

 

Her eyes never leave him, even as she sips her coffee. He hasn't much of an appetite, which leaves him pushing his food around his plate in an attempt to avoid her gaze.

_"You know the plan?"_

_"I'm not incompetent."_

_"That doesn't answer the question."_

He sets his fork aside. Sometimes he's just not in the mood for these games.

_"Yes I know the plan."_

He picks the utensil back up and lightly stabs at his breakfast. Joanna sets her cup down with a sigh.

_"During the interviews, at just the point Scott Knowles is worn down and tired from the same cardboard cutout, copy-and-paste answers from the interviewees, I go in and offer him something different. I get him out of the office, somewhere a little more personal, and tell him why I'm the best man for the job."_

Tyrell leaves his fork where it is, removes the napkin from his lap and places his hands on the table. He finally meets his wife's gaze.

_"Don't you trust me?"_

She smiles, reaches across the table and places her hand over his own.

_"It's not a matter of trust, darling, but confidence. I believe you have it in you to pull it off, but you haven't exactly been at your best lately."_

She takes his other hand and leans forward slowly.

_"We have been working so hard for this, and for so long. We have been careful, we have taken all the steps, put in all the hours. And now we are almost there, Tyrell. Now it's up to you, to finish this, to get us to the top. Though the goal is in sight, we shouldn't get too excited. Now is not the time to get laxed or lazy. Now more than ever, we have to note the details and weigh all our decisions."_

She gives his hands a squeeze.

_"This is everything we've worked for. I need your head clear, and for you to be completely in this. No distractions."_

He swallows. Does she know? How he thinks about the socially awkward, 'just-a-tech' Elliot who saved Allsafe and by extension E Corp? Does she know he wonders if he can get the quiet man to be noisy, to scream? To get beyond his barriers, to know him intimately in every way possible? To get beyond his phobia of touch, to have his skin memorized on his fingertips, on his lips? Does she know how often he wonders what goes on in that man's head, if he gets as nervous being around Tyrell as Tyrell does when he's around Elliot? Does she know he doesn't understand it, how all these feelings can bubble up after a few chance meetings, but he thinks he wants to? To unravel it al, to learn it all, with him?

No. He's overthinking it. There's too much going on right now and he's starting to sweat the small stuff and _that_ more than likely is what she's talking about. He sighs. She's right, if he's going to succeed, his head needs to be in the game. Gangly hoodie wearing hackers be damned.

He offers her a smile.

_"You know I'll do anything for you, for us."_

He brings her hands up to his mouth and places a chaste kiss to her fingers. With that, he stands from the table, puts on his coat, and grabs his brief case.

_"Oh, and Tyrell?_

_"Yes?"_

_"Have a good day at work."_


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I dreamt about you last night."  
> [Mr. Robot, Elliot Alderson]

"I dreamt about you last night."

"Oh?"

Mr. Robot lazily exhales the smoke from his cigarette as he stares out the window with disinterest.

"What was it about?"

Elliot keeps his eyes trained on his feet as he shrugs. Maybe dream was the wrong word, but hallucination didn't quite fit either. What should he call the mess his mind concocted last night, exactly? The visions come back to him, blurred together and distorted. He's still trying to sort through what was real and what... wasn't. He shivers.

"Do you-" his voice cracks; he feels like shit, "think dreams mean anything?"

Mr. Robot snorts, smoke blows out his nose.

"Dreams are nothing more than the brain playing back everything it absorbed during the day to try to make sense of it."

That hardly brings Elliot ease. He thinks of Robot handing him the mask and key. _What is your monster?_ Angela eating Qwerty, and the wedding. The girl in front of his missing house. What is his brain trying to process? Is his head trying to tell him something?

No. It was merely a response to withdrawal. There is no way there is any kind of order to that chaos. Shit. He's been spending too much time around Mr. Robot.

"But if you mean a dream as in a goal, like what we're doing, then yes, I believe in that. But a dream is only a fantasy unless acted upon and made into reality. Otherwise, what's the point?"

Mr. Robot puts the cigarette out with the bottom of his boot and places it inside one of his empty beer cans. He then finally brings his attention to Elliot, who knows he's about to get a speech.

"That's what makes you different, Elliot, what makes us different. All those everyday people out there, slaving away at dead end jobs with nowhere to go, with their dreams locked inside their heads but no guts to back it up, whining about their mundane existence because they're too weak to take things into their own hands. But not you, Elliot. You couldn't keep living like that. It was killing you, slowly. So you took action. The world needs that, Elliot. People who can take action."

Mr. Robot makes him sound so brave, so noble. It's been Mr. Robot leading him every step of the way. Telling him what to do, when. He's no better then the people just doing what they're told so they can survive the day-to-day. Doesn't he do that much?

"I know what you're thinking Elliot. Don't put yourself down like that. Those people sacrifice self in order to conform. You want to free them from that and you... you refused to conform. You embraced what makes you different."

As if he's really had a choice in any of this. He's just Robot's hands and feet. But to what extent? The reason he's here is because Robot's ideals appealed to him. And this little trip to Steel Mountain is entirely his own doing, not Robot's. He swallows the bile that suddenly surges up his throat. It's a lot to take in, what they're about to do, what they're trying to achieve, without morphine softening the edges of reality. God he could use a hit.

"Hey," Mr. Robot says softly. He reaches his hand out to place on Elliot's shoulder, flinches away and settles for his elbow. "I'm proud of you, kiddo. I know none of this is easy, but you're pulling it off. Not many could do this."

Elliot gives a single nod, and Mr. Root pulls his hand away after giving Elliot's elbow a gentle squeeze. Something inside Elliot's stomach that isn't nausea twists, and for a moment, as he and the others of fsociety cruise down the highway towards Steel Mountain, he feels an exhilaration at the possibility of succeeding in all this, and for the first time in a long time, he has hope.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Take my seat."  
> [Elliot/Mobley]
> 
> Set sometime before the series.

Elliot removes his hood as he ducks into the arcade. He got a decent night's rest, work had been fairly simple, he's feeling mostly human and is looking forward to just sitting behind a computer screen and allowing it to consume his time as he looses himself in the project, except...

He stops short at the table, suddenly feeling very awkward and out of place. Apparently Darlene, Trenton, Romero and Mobley also had the same idea, as they're quietly tucked away into their respective work spaces, typing and mouse clicking away. From the beginning, the deal has always been for fsociety's members to work when they can, when and how they saw fit. The arcade was never meant to hold all the members at once; if a group of people arrived or left in what is supposed to be a deserted building too closely to one another, they may draw attention, and worse, suspicion. But apparently everyone has decided to disregard this, or just happened to show up today. Either way, it's overcrowded and Elliot's never been one for crowds.

"Oh, hey! Didn't see you come in!" Mobley says just as Elliot shoves his hands into his pockets and turns to leave.

"I-I was just stopping in."

"Yeah, that's cool. We never see you around much."

Elliot wonders if this is just as awkward for Mobley as it is for him. He knows Mobley means well, and it's not as if Elliot tries to make things weird. It's that Mobley tends to overdo the friendliness, goes out of his way to accommodate Elliot and his social anxieties, and for Elliot that can be just as bad.

"Um, I was just wrapping up, if you wanted to take my seat."

Elliot considers backing out, telling Mobley that he has something else anyways, but it's not often he has the energy to come out to Coney Island, let alone work on the project, plus Darlene is giving him _that look_ over the top of her laptop. He takes his bottom lip in between his teeth, closes his eyes and quickly nods his head before he can loose his nerve.

He waits as Mobley gathers up his trash, keys and jacket before he removes his backpack and settles into the seat. He sighs, runs his fingers through his hair, poises his fingers above the keyboard and feels the burning sensation crawl along his neck and shoulder. Elliot gives into the itch to glance over his shoulder to find Mobley standing him, smiling earnestly. Unsure what to say, Elliot gapes for a moment before turning back around to the computer.

Okay. Mobley just wants to watch him work. Cool. It's fine. He can do this. It's no different than work, where the work stations are organized by groups and the person in the cubicle behind him can easily turn around and see his computer. Everything is monitored there anyways. Elliot can feel a muscle twitch in his eye. Why does Mobley want to watch him anyways? What's so fascinating about the way he types code versus the way Trenton does it? Elliot doesn't pop in whenever and lurk over Mobley's shoulder to se what he's doing.

"I need some space." He says at last, voice annoyingly quiet despite how frustrated he feels over something so stupid.

"Oh. Right." Mobley says as he removes his hand from the back of the chair and takes a few steps back. Elliot thinks there's something in his voice, some kind of disappointment, but he can't really detect what it is and he doesn't have time for social intricacies.

Feeling like he can finally breathe, Elliot gets to work. His fingers glide across the keyboard, the clicking and clacking become a part of the white noise backdrop consisting of humming CPUs and external hard drives, arcade games and their jingles, and the muffled sounds of Darlene's too loud music as it escapes from her headphones. Elliot would find it relaxing, if not for the fact that no matter how much he types into the DOS command prompt, he still sees Mobley's reflection in the screen, looking so dumbly fascinated.

He finds it agitating, and it irks him that this bothers him so much. Why should he care if someone wants to watch him? Why does he care that someone does? Why does he care that Mobley cares? Why is so bent up about Mobley's overly nice gestures and too friendliness and pointed eye contact and smiles that last too long? Maybe it's because he doesn't understand why Mobley does it. Why he makes a point to say hello when Elliot walks in or bye when he's leaving, or laughs when he thinks Elliot makes a joke and follows with "I thought it was funny', or says things like 'I like your shoes' or gives his seat up for Elliot.

He's just not used to it. As a child, other kids avoided him. He was the last one picked for teams, sat at the back of the class. Even at home he stayed held up in his room, and on occasion when his mother forced him outside all he had was his imagination. Back then, then only person who ever bothered to reach out was... He swallows thickly. Even after the accident and befriending Angela, no one reached out. Even Angela, despite the sorrow and pain they shared, only understood him to a degree. As they got older and she got other friends, she understood less. She still reached out and made a point to invite him to things, but he knew where he stood in the hierarchy of high school and what that meant for her reputation.

Even now, after all those years, even with them working together, she's too caught up in her own life, with Ollie and shopping trips and girls-night-out with the other women in the office. And Elliot doesn't begrudge her. He understands it, he accepts it. He likes his solitude. It's this stuff with Mobley he doesn't understand. People avoid him on the sidewalk, in the subway, in the halls. They don't hover over his shoulder and ask what he's doing for dinner. Wait, what?

"I have a thing," his reply and he doesn't skip a beat. 'Real human interaction'. That's what Krista keeps saying. The words bounce around like a mantra in his head. Doesn't this thing with1 fsociety count? He's here with three other people. It wouldn't be much different than if they were all watching tv somewhere.

"Maybe next time."

"I'll go." Romero says as he stands from his chair.

"Count me in, I'm fucking dying over here. I totally skipped lunch today." Darlene adds, grabbing her purse and glasses.

"Yeah, I'll go too." Trenton chimes in, glancing at Darlene sheepishly.

Suddenly Elliot finds himself alone.

~*~

Elliot exhales smoke from a freshly lit cigarette as he makes his way through the New York City streets. It was grueling, but he got the work done in time. He pulls his hood up, takes one more long drag off his cigarette, puts it out on the sidewalk and enters the busy little restaurant. His hands fidget in his pockets and his teeth work his bottom lip as he glances about before finally spotting the rag tag group in a booth tucked away in the back. They appear to be enjoying themselves, laughing and smiling with one another, even Darlene. He carefully makes his way over, keeping his head ducked and his eyes on the floor as he beelines towards the table. The laughter stops once he arrives, someone clears their throat.

"Hey Eliot," Mobley says, voice warm though surprised," what are you doing here?"

"I uh, I finished quicker than I expected. Thought you guys might still be here."

Stupid. This is stupid, he's stupid. He shouldn't have come. He's late, he already made an ass of himself, they were having fun without him, now he's ruined it by showing up and making it awkward.

"here," Mobley says as he makes room on the bench. Elliot considers it. He also considers turning right around, going straight to his apartment and never showing his face again, except Mobley is smiling at him earnestly and Darlene is watching him so he sits on the bench next to Mobley as a slice of pizza is placed in front of him. Darlene makes a snarky remark that Elliot doesn't catch because of the ringing in her ears but everyone laughs, and the tension eases away. He has no idea why Mobley is trying to reach out to him, but there's only one way to find out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has got to be my crackiest ship for this show.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I saved a piece for you."  
> [Elliot, Lloyd]
> 
> I apologize for OOCness, it's hard to get into a character's head when there's next to nothing known about said character.

Elliot stumbles into the office, head ducked, hands crammed into his pockets, making a beeline towards his cubicle when something bright and shiny catches his eye. He moves his gaze up from the floor, remembers to take his hood off, and stares dumbly at the streamers and colorful decorations littered about the office. It's then he remembers it's Gideon's birthday. Everyone had pitched in to throw the little surprise party for their boss. Elliot had been more than happy to donate money; that's the kind of involvement he can get behind as it requires little effort on his behalf and keeps him from looking like an ass, as most social situations tend to do. He sighs as he avoids a small group of people clustered together laughing. He knows at some point he'll have to wish Gideon a happy birthday, endure small talk, maybe even a pat on the back or worse, a hug. Too bad his twenty dollars couldn't cover that.

"Man Elliot, you missed the party," Lloyd greets as Elliot slides his backpack off and gets comfortable in his chair. "Saved you some cake."

Elliot looks at the small slice of cake on the festive paper plate sitting beside his keyboard.

"Had stuff to do." he offers as an explanation, even though he's certain a 'thank you' is in order.

"Tried saving you a hat too but those went pretty quick."

Elliot snorts. Most of the time Lloyd spews out his usual off-brand humor, earning him looks from those within earshot, but every now and then he'll say something stupid and Elliot finds himself grinning about it the rest of the day.

"Hey, I know it's not really your thing, but some of us are thinking about taking Gideon out tonight and partying for real. There's a club not far from here that just opened up."

"Sorry, I have something to do later." Elliot says around a bite of cake. It's much too sweet and makes his teeth hurt, but deciding to eat it is hardly the worst decision he's made in his life.

"Didn't think you'd be interested but Angela wanted me to ask anyways."

As if on queue, Elliot's eyes float above his computer to see Angela, Ollie and a secretary talking with Gideon in his office. Elliot's feet fidget beneath his desk. He really should say something.

"Hey, uh Lloyd. Thanks for the cake."

"Yeah, no problem dude."

Elliot's hands turn to fists inside his sleeve. He inhales sharply as he stands from his chair. He makes his way to his boss's office, one down, one to go.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I'm sorry for your loss."  
> [Elliot,Gideon, Ollie, Angela, Mr. Robot]
> 
> Mentions of death. [Shayla, Edward]

It's the day after the funeral. He had to drag himself out of bed, has been running on autopilot since. Feed Qwerty, feed Flipper. Shower. Dress. Grab his things, go to work. Get through the guard shack, ride up the elevator. Use his I.D. to get into the office, walk to his cubicle, say hi to Lloyd. Kick his backpack underneath his desk until it stops falling over on his feet, log into the computer, pick up where he left off.

It's not quite as simple as that, as writing out a list and checking things off as you go along. If that were the case Elliot would've had this whole 'life' thing figured out years ago. No, there's always something else, something hovering above the page of the rule book, some unspoken code of conduct or whatever it is that sets humans apart from other animals. He can feel the stares, hear the whispering voices in hushed tones. Gruesome murders in New York aren't uncommon, but Elliot figures it must be different knowing someone in the mix... if only they knew how involved he had really been. The sudden hand on his shoulder makes him jump. The hand is quickly retracted, and Elliot looks up to see a guilty looking Gideon.

"Look, Elliot..."

_'No.'_ He thinks. Not here. Not now. He can't hear those words. He doesn't want to do this, not while he's in his safe little bubble, too busy checking things off his list to feel the pain or to notice the nosey glances in his direction.

"I'm sorry Elliot. For the-" he gestures with his hand, "and I'm sorry for your loss. Please, if there's anything you need, I'm here for you, okay? Just... take it easy today."

Gideon pats the side of Elliot's cubicle though Elliot makes no response.

_"I'm sorry for your loss."_

There's no combination of words Elliot hates more than those. Suddenly he's ten years old again, standing at his father's grave side as distant relatives pat his shoulder, gives their condolences, or looks at him with glassy, pity filled eyes. How many times did he hear those words from the ambulance ride to the hospital where the doctor pronounced his death, to the funeral and the lawyers as they built their case?

_"I'm sorry for your loss."_

Elliot never understood the men and women in the suits, always asking their questions, pressing for answers Elliot didn't want to give. Oh how his mother put on a show, making a big fuss and spilling fake tears. She'd always throw a fit once they left though, when Elliot refused to comply. He didn't see what the point was- no sum of money or amount of fancy suited men in jail would ever bring his father back. He knows now that the lawyers had been after the money, and when they failed to achieve that goal... Elliot can't recall the moment they received the news that the court had ruled out the case, but he remembers the rants his mother would go on for weeks later.

_"What a waste of a man. Good for nothing, even in death."_

And now, as Gideon looks at him with sad eyes, eyes full of empathy, it angers Elliot. He knows Gideon means well, knows he feels sorry for Elliot, just wants to reach out... _they always want to reach ouch..._ but what right does he have to feel sorry? To feel sad? He isn't the one who lost Shayla. He isn't the one who hurt her, who broke his promise. _If only he knew..._

Gideon is looking at him expectantly. Shit. He wasn't paying attention. Gideon lets out a slow, burdened sigh, the way a mother would before muttering about 'difficult child'.

"Elliot, if you need to go home ear-"

"No!" It comes out too quickly, too desperate. He can't go home now. He can't be alone now, drowning in his thoughts until he can't breathe and the panic and guilt take over; his throat is still raw from the screaming and crying.

"I-I'm ready to work." He says as steadily as he can, boring his gaze right into Gideon's eyes. He needs to be as convincing as possible. He needs something else to flood his mind aside from the steady stream of _how-dare-you's_ and _if-only's_ running through his head.

 

 

 

"Dude, I saw the news this weekend and-" Elliot leaves the break room before Ollie has a chance to finish. He doesn't want to hear the words again, least of all from him.

_"I'm sorry for your loss."_

Elliot often wonders what exactly it is he lost. More than a father. More than a friend. More than his drug dealer. His father never saw him graduate. He never got to take Shayla on a proper date. His father never saw his first hack. Shayla never saw the real him. He'll never how things would've been had his father lived; he'll never know what could've been between he and Shayla. How many countless moments... How many things would've been different... If only he'd-

"Elliot."

Nearly running into Angela, he startles as he's pulled from his thoughts.

"Angela." He warns in a low tone. He doesn't to talk about it. Not here. Not now. Not ever.

"Look, if there's anything I can do-"

" 'M fine."

She drops the soft smiles as her hands fall to her sides.

"I've heard that before."

He blinks. He has no comeback. He doesn't want to do this right now.

"Why didn't you say anything?" She asks, dropping her voice to a whisper, "I-I I could've-"

"What?" He asks, defensive, because she doesn't know. They all think he got a phone call in the early hours of the morning. They don't know he was there, they don't know he opened the trunk, they don't know he rode in the car, hacked the prison, spent the day with criminals, playing their game, that they had rigged the game, he'd lost from the start, _'zero sum, Elliot'._ Without another word, he side steps her and continues to his cubicle. He grabs his backpack, pulls his hood up and leaves.

 

 

 

Elliot has his eyes closed and he's leaned back against the window. He can still feel the people though, feel the brush against his legs as they get on or exit, feel the press against his arms from those beside him, no matter how small he tries to make himself. He wonders if they know, if they can see it on his face, that he's the reason that they're dead.

The flashing lights of approaching police vehicles, the wails of sirens, it made him think of the ambulance, the one that took his father to the hospital. He often wonders what would've happened had he spoken up sooner... could they have saved him? Could he have gotten treatment? Or was it zero sum? Would have telling his mother sooner done nothing just as helping Vera's brother out did nothing? Had the game been rigged from the start?

He's back there again, back to that feeling, back to no-such-thing-as-free-will. Everything is predestined, on a path. There's no such thing as a decision if the only options are bullshit choices. Honda or Hyundai? Fernando or Carlos? Coke or Pepsi? Tell Mom now or tell her later?

He sits with a jolt when the train comes to his stop. He struggles to pay attention to the tunnels, the streets, where he's going. At last he finds himself home and when he opens the door to his apartment, the last thing he expects to see is Mr. Robot sitting on his couch, though he supposes he shouldn't be so surprised.

"Hiya Elliot." He greets, as if this is the normal routine. Normally Elliot would question him, argue, even get him to leave, but today he doesn't have it in him, so he easily accepts the other man's presence. He steps into the apartment without a word and closes the door behind him. As he slides his backpack off, he wonders why Flipper isn't barking at the intruder, wonders why she's curled up on the couch next to him.

"How was work?"

Elliot returns his hands to his pockets and watches Mr. Robot cautiously. When no answer is supplied, Robot sighs.

"Look, I know... you and I, we're not really at this level. We're just acquaintances. But let's be honest, I've helped you through some shit."

Mr. Robot rubs his hands against his jeans and looks around the apartment as if looking for the words to say.

"I just wanted to check on you. Make sure you're doing okay. You know... relatively speaking."

He stands from the couch but keeps the distance between he and Elliot.

"Look kiddo, I'm not too good at this kinda stuff. I could tell you I'm sorry, could say I know you tried your best, that it really isn't your fault, could even say I told you so. But nothing can say will fix it so... instead of all this moping around, how about we go grab a beer, maybe get something to eat and watch a game? Just put all this serious stuff aside for a night? What do you say?"

A choice. He shouldn't be seen with Mr. Robot. He shouldn't associate with anyone from fsociety in public, it's just safer that way. Not to mention going somewhere he doesn't want to go, doing something he doesn't want to do with someone he doesn't want to be around. But it's that or curling up in bed wondering why he even exists. He sighs. Like he really has a choice.

"Flipper, be good while I'm gone. Keep an eye on Qwerty."


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "You can have half."  
> [Elliot, Romero, Trenton, Mobley]
> 
> Contains drugs and dissociation.

He can't stop shaking, no matter how many deep breaths he takes or how tightly he clenches his fists hidden away in his pockets, he just can't seem to get a handle on it. Mr. Robot had thrown another one of his fits, this one had been especially volatile. After throwing some things around he'd stormed out, shortly followed by Darlene. They had gotten into an argument, things had unexpectedly escalated. It took Elliot by surprise and startled him, and now he can't seem to calm back down.

"Jesus kid," Romero remarks as he gives a sideways glance towards Elliot, "it's not good to get worked up like that."

He looks back at Romero, tries to think of a reply but his nerves are frayed. All he can think of is his shaky breathing.

"Come on." Romero sighs as he pulls a seat next to him. "I think I got something to unwind you."

Elliot only hesitates a moment before taking the seat, unwinding is just what he needs. He pays no attention to the bag Romero removes from his pocket, nor the paper he rolls out on his desk. Trenton, however, does.

"Are you really sure that's what he needs right now?"

"I think it's exactly what he needs." Romero says undisputedly in a matter-of-fact tone of voice. Though his posture remains non-aggressive, he eyes Trenton over the computers challengingly. She decides it's not worth arguing about and drops her gaze. Darlene opened up to her recently about Elliot, after Trenton had voiced her concerns about his well being two weeks back. Though Darlene hadn't really gotten into details, it was enough for Trenton to piece together and while she understands that Elliot is a consenting adult, he's also a consenting adult with a mental illness. She frowns to herself. Darlene will come back in eventually, and if what he's doing is problematic then she won't be shy about letting him know.

"Here ya go, kid." Romero hands Elliot half the joint, then lights it for him. Elliot breathes in deeply, tries to hold it but he coughs- the smoke escapes through his lips in disjointed puffs.

"You alright?" Romero asks in his fatherly-way. With as uptight as he can be, sometimes Trenton forgets there's a heart beneath the rules and regulations.

"Yeah." Eliot rasps before taking another hit.

"Don't go too fast now. It ain't a cigarette, you need to savor it. It's an experience."

Though he doesn't speak, Elliot gives the older man a look, one that's a clear mix of _'shut up'_ and _'I know'_. Romero looks a little put-off, but says nothing more as he passes his half og the joint to Mobley before returning to his work. From Mobley it goes to Trenton who debates it, then decides it'd be good to take the edge off. Passing it back to Romero, she can feel herself relaxing. The atmosphere itself seems to have become less tense, with the remnants of the earlier fight having fully dissipated; apart from Darlene's absence, which Trenton feels despite what she tells herself.

Elliot, who has grown silent and still, stares off into the distance. Memories play out before him. He watches them like muted television in the dead of night, he hears nothing and feels nothing yet there's a familiarity to them despite the foreign feeling, like a word he's said too many times in a row. He watches on nonetheless, and feels the anxiety crawling through his veins despite the numbness he feels. The sudden sensation of feeling something enunciates the contrast of the former emptiness which sharpens the anxiety and it crescendos into a panic. The numbness comes back harder, it makes his head spin, and as he looks around he he begins to wonder if the arcade and the people in it are just another silent movie memory.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Take my jacket. It's cold outside."  
> [Darlene and Edward]

A young Darlene sits backwards on the couch with her knees in the cushions, her arms folding along the top of the backrest, her face inches from the window and fogging up the window with each breath while she watches the snow fall. The entire street is covered in the soft, frozen powdery substance and she knows the whole city looks like this, knows they won't be having recess today, instead they'll go to the auditorium and watch a movie. Her eyes pick out an individual snow flake and follows its trail to the ground where it joins the others. Each snow flake is special, she learned that in class. Her teacher said each one looks uniquely different than the rest, that no too look the same. But as she looks at the ground, she can't make out the individual flakes, it's all just one giant heap.

She sighs. She hates the snow. She hates how cold it is, hates how it has a way of finding its way into the folds of clothing were it melts and gets beneath the layers. The shirt and sweater and coat and scarf become useless then, soaking up the cold water that leaves her damp and chilled long after she sheds her layers and puts on new clothing. She frowns, this is only the first snowfall of what will undoubtedly be a long winter.

The front door opens, and her father shuffles inside from shoveling snow free of their driveway. Despite the many layers, he's shivering and curled up on himself. He quickly toes his boots off and heads to the kitchen, eager to brew a warm beverage. Darlene frowns to herself when he begins to cough.

It's becoming more regular, the coughing. Sometimes they're fits that leave him doubled over and breathless. He sighs a lot too, like the boy in her class with asthma who's always short of breath and wheezes when he talks. She doesn't know what it means, but sees the way Mom looks at him sometimes. She fusses about him needing to eat more, that he's loosing weight. She says he doesn't look well, says he needs to stop sleeping so much, that he needs to get up and move around, to make himself useful.

She asked her Mom what's wrong with Dad, but all she said was, "nothing's wrong with your father, aside from him being so damn lazy."

Her father enters the room, sips from his mug and makes a content sound.

"What are you doing Dar? The bus won't see you waiting in here."

She scrunches up her nose and he laughs softly as he gets comfortable in the recliner.

"Yeah, it's pretty yucky out there."

He takes another sip, place the cup on the table. Darlene looks back out the window at the falling flurries and small gusts of wind that toss them about. 'Yucky' is right, she doesn't know how Elliot can stand out there. Then again, he's always been weird.

Her father stands from his seat and disappears down the hall where the room with his computer is. When he returns, he's got his jacket in hand.

"Here you go kiddo, this should keep you warm."

Darlene looks at it skeptically.

"It's too big." She says matter-of-factually. Her father chuckles as he gets down on one knee to get eye level with her.

"Yeah, but we can fix that."

Darlene turns and sits correctly in the couch to face him as he drapes his jacket over her shoulders. She slips her arms through the sleeves, her hands only make it three-fourths of the way, and she watches as he rolls the sleeves until her hands are free. She pulls on her gloves and he helps her with her backpack.

"What will you wear to work?" She asks as he opens the front door for her.

"Nahhh," he says, dismissively waving his hand, "not going into work. No way someone's gonna trek through this weather to get their computer fixed. Wouldn't be worth it to have the shop opened."

She wants to ask if that means that her and Elliot can stay home from school, but the bus is pulling up and he's ushering her out the door bidding her a good day. She quickly catches up to Elliot as they board the bus and she follows him into the seat they share. It's then he gives her a side wise glance.

"Is that Dad's?"

"He's letting me borrow it."

He simply nods before turning his gaze out the window. Darlene does too, though she quickly looses interest- everything is white. Instead her eyes go to the too large jacket, that smells like her father and cigarettes and she shares a small smile with the little robot that peers up at her from its spot on the patch. Despite the snow, she thinks today may be good after all.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Sorry I'm late."  
> [Darlene/Angela]

Darlene hastily makes her way across the ballet room, being mindful of the bag slung over her shoulder and her fellow peers as they stretch. She makes it to her spot, unceremoniously dumps her bag to the floor and does her hair up in a halfhearted messy bun. She stands, still and calm, and after taking a deep breath and slowly releasing it, she begins her own warm up routine.

"Sorry I'm late." She says, exhaling as she bends down to touch her toes.

"I was beginning to think you weren't going to show." Angela says, and she sounds neither angry nor upset, but Darlene still flinches.

"Yeah, well, you know how the morning traffic can be."

Angela sighs, her eyes widen.

"Oh yeah. I almost got an occurrence last week."

"Oh please, your boss loves you. I'm sure he would've let it slide."

Angela ducks her head as small blush warms her cheeks. Darlene smiles. Even after all these years, she still hates being teased about being a goody two shoes. With Angela not having a come back, the conversation ends and Darlene is thankful. She hates lying to her friend. No matter how small the lie.

The truth is, her tardiness wasn't due to traffic, but because she'd overslept after staying out late with Elliot. It was the third time this month they hung out together; their visits are becoming more and more frequent. It feels good to reconnect with her brother. They only had each other growing up, but things became strange between them after The Incident. She heard his mental health had gotten worse, that he'd been ordered to see a professional, to get help. She had no idea how to reach out.

She wasn't sure what she been expecting the first time she'd made contact with him since everything happened. She knew she was worried of possibly messing things up, of triggering something and making him worse, but Angela kept pestering her to call him, just one phone call, just say hi. And really, that's all it took.

She has Angela to thank for it. Ironic, she thinks, considering it was Elliot who had first introduced them. It had been one of the times all the families from the lawsuit had met together. Elliot had tugged on Darlene's sleeve while the adults were talking, sometimes heated, about things neither understood.

"That girl," he'd whispered to her while he nodded in the blonde girl's direction, "she's in my class."

The trio had seen a lot of each other from that point on, from the meetings and court sessions. The three formed a bond during the chaos and mourning. One that has carried on into adulthood.

Darlene thinks of what she and Elliot have been discussing as of late. Talk of hacking and revenge, finding allies on forums and threads, seeking vengeance. Talk of a revolution and a secret hacking society. Talk of E Corp and The Dark Army. She steels a glance at the blonde beside her. She knows the past they share and what lies between them. But now, as a storm brews on the horizon, she can't help but wonder if their friendship can weather what lies ahead.

 


	14. Chapter 14

"Can I Have This Dance?"  
[Angela/Elliot]

With the warm summer night's breeze in her hair and cheap alcohol in her veins, Angela feels alive, euphoric even. Shitty club music pulses from the limousine and her friend's laughter rings in her ears. She hollers out into the night. It's prom night, they have mere weeks left of their high school career and then they're free. Free to go off to college, free from their parents and rules, free to be young adults, free to be whoever they wish to be.

They have their whole lives ahead of them now, a whole lifetime of adventure. A life time of mistakes, of successes. A lifetime of self discovery and romance. A life time that is Angela's personal story, one that she can not wait to begin.

"Hey party girl, maybe you should come down from there." One of Tue boys says as he places his hand a little higher on her thigh than she's comfortable with. She let's it pass, peers down at him through the open slot of the sun roof with a warm smile, one that he returns back at her.

Once their moment is over, she returns her gaze to the night, and takes in the almost magical atmosphere illuminated by the soft greens, warm yellows and glaring reds of tail lights, head lights, street lights and intersection lights. It's as she's pondering the limitless possibilities of the unfolding night that something catches her eye; a small, lanky hooded figure walking with an all too familiar gait.

"Hey," she calls, beating her hand on the car roof in the hopes of grabbing attention through the thick sound of music and laughter.

"Hey, stop the car!" She yells as she pulls herself back down through the sun roof.

A small commotion unravels then, Angela bunches up the skirt of her dress and lunges for the door as Nick makes a grab for her while demanding to know what she's doing. At the same time, the other passengers realize what she is doing and hollar at the driver to stop. The limousine is just starting to break as Angela gets the door open and frantically tumbles out unto her feet on the road.

"C'mon on Angela! What are you doing?"

"Get back here!"

"You're gonna make us late!"

She ignores their calls.

"Hey! Hey Elliot! Elliot wait up!"

Elliot doesn't stop walking but he does spare a glance over his shoulder. Seeing Angela struggling to catch up as fast as she can in heels, he stops, though he returns his gaze to the sidewalk before him.

"Hey El," she says as she approaches, bringing with her her warm smile and sweet perfume and Elliot is reminded how improbable their friendship is, "what are you doing out here?"

Elliot wipes his hand across his face and sniffs, then gives a shrug of his shoulders. Instantly Angela becomes somber.

"Hey," she says, pinching at the fabric of his sleeve and giving it a light tug, "what's wrong?"

He turns to her with all the confidence he can muster, though his red-rimmed eyes don't quite meet her gaze.

"N-Nothing."

"Elli-"

"It's nothing Angela, I'm okay."

"Yo Angela! You're holding us up!"

"Yeah, ditch the dweeb and let's go!"

"Go on without me!"

"What?" Nick shouts back and Elliot says, "no Angela, you don't have to."

"I know," she says to Elliot, "I want to."

She turns back to the limo.

"Go on ahead!"

There's some cursing followed by laughter and jeers, then the door closes and the party on wheels continues on its way.

The pair begin walking at a casual pace, Elliot with his hands in his pockets and Angela with her hands entertained with each other in front of her.

"So... how was it?"

Angela shrugs.

"It was okay."

"C'moooon..." Elliot teases as he gently knocks his shoulder into hers.

"Honest!" She says with a giggle. 

"You looked like you were having fun."

"It had its charm."

"Yeah?"

"I mean.... it's easy to get caught up in the moment. Anything can feel like anything when you're drinking cheap beer while listening to cheap music with cheap friends."

"That ride didn't look so cheap."

She giggles and a moment of comfortable silence settles over the two.

"Sooooo...."

" 'So' what?"

"So what about you? What did you do this evening?"

She notices the movement in his pockets, sees the ways his fists clench under the fabric and dig deeper, as if he can disappear into his own jacket, starting with his fists.

"It's... just mom," he confesses to the sidewalk, "Darlene.... she snuck out. And it's my fault, apparently. For not keeping am eye on her."

A painful pause.

"She-" he sucks in a harsh breath, forces it out again, "called me worthless, said I was worthless like my father, cause I can't keep the house in order, said she's tired of always having to be the one to keep the order."

He allows the words to tumble from his lips, spills them out before he can think better of it, does it quick like a bandaid- painless until its over and the regret of opening up settles in with a cruel sting.

Angela doesn't say anything, isn't sure what to say anyways, knows words won't really help, and the pair walk in silence until one of her heels catches on a crack in the concrete and Elliot puts his arm around her to steady her before she can fall.

Once upright and with her arms linked around his she asks, "do you want to run away tonight?"

He gives her a bemused sidewise glance.

"You mean like when we were kids?"

"Yeah. You know, for old time's sake. Before... before we go off to college and become adults and all that other stuff."

"Yeah, why not. I don't have anywhere else to be."

~*~

They make their way through the near empty halls of the museum, admiring the work and enjoying each other's company while sharing laughs and smiles. Eventually the come to the end of their little tour, and Elliot bites down on his lip while adverting his eyes.

"What is it?" Angela asks, bemused and giggling.

"Nothing... I had fun."

"Yeah, me too."

"Thanks."

She smiles at him.

"No, really. You could be... spending your prom the normal way, could drunk and dancing. But..." he gestures with his hand to the room around them, "it's a rite of passage, you know?"

"Elliot, our friendship is way more important to me than some superficial ritual."

"Yeah, I know. You're always... making these sacrifices for me. You coulda left me behind, I wouldn't have blamed you, but... you didn't. And I.... I never really said thanks, you know, for all that. The stuff you do. For me."

He turns his body so that he's facing her, though his eyes are on the ground. He shakes his hands out at his sides, and as he draws a deep breath in, he pulls his gaze up to met hers.

"Angela. Can- Can I have this dance?"

She bites down on her lip as she smiles, and nods, unsure if her voice will fail her.

They move towards each other and close the space between them. She places her arms around his neck, he puts her hands on her waist, she can feel them trembling even through the fabric of her dress. Slowly they move, without direction or rhythm, they simply circle each other, lost in each other's orbit, unknowing of who is leading who, but content with the other's presence.


End file.
